


gotta feel it to make it real

by 8thDigit



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Bloodplay, Choking, Experimentation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, M/M, Snuff, Strangulation, status effect play, wild metaverse fuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8thDigit/pseuds/8thDigit
Summary: The two of them were two sides of the same coin, their differences in the margin of circumstance. Goro wondered sometimes, if he peeled back Joker's mask, would he have the rage to match hiding underneath?
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 15
Kudos: 111
Collections: Bottom Goro Secret Summer Santa (exchange)





	gotta feel it to make it real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hackercatz (beherrscht)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beherrscht/gifts).



> for jemmie. thanks for putting this event together and for giving me the inspiration to put my writing to the test. also thanks for being so patient with me and sticking with me for so long. you're a real one <3
> 
> also thanks to gf and [REDACTED] for their support and inspiration. you guys keep me going. and are most of the reason why this is getting posted instead of wasting away in my drafts. thanks for putting up with me
> 
> **TO THE READER:**  
>  please read the tags. PLEASE read the tags.  
> have the tag "dub-con" for wild and enthusiastic consent under the influence of mind-altering status effects. this is technically non-con. please be aware of this, and be safe!

"Take it from a phantom thief, Crow. The 'keep out' signs just means there is something really, really good inside." 

Joker has dragged them once again through a vent and down a service corridor in search of a meaningless treasure or trinket. Even Crow, with very little experience detecting the Palace Ruler’s treasure, can sense that this way will take them off the path.

Crow scoffed. If being forced to buddy up with his sworn rival wasn’t enough, the world was still upside down and backwards from the high-and-mighty therapist, with no righteous phantom thieves in sight. Those sniveling simpletons were so happy in the world created _just for them;_ they couldn’t even seem to see past their own blinding happiness to see that this was just another deception, created in the effort to control them. Crow could see right through Maruki: a man who wanted what he deemed 'happiness for the masses' was just a dictator in a nice guy suit.

To his credit, Joker had not fallen sway to Maruki’s deceptions. Not yet, anyway. That’s why Goro had attached himself to his side like a sticky burr. The thought that Joker would give into a false world’s tyranny was insulting to any befitting of his rivalry. Goro simply wouldn’t have it.

And so, here they are. Fighting through Maruki’s facility for any sign of Sumire. Pairing up with Joker is much different from fighting in a group. No other people to get in the way of Goro's bloodshed, no side glances thrown his way after tearing a shadow apart with his claws, no nervous laughs when he screamed at a shadow that he’s going to enjoy killing it _._ Being alone with Joker was almost more frustrating than the alternative; while Goro could see the others' disapproval and not care, he could never get a sense of what Joker thought, locked behind his poker face. 

If he disapproved, he didn’t show it. The two of them were two sides of the same coin, their differences in the margin of circumstance. Goro wondered sometimes, if he peeled back Akira’s mask, would he have the rage to match hiding underneath?

“Stop standing around, Crow—battle’s over.” Joker, mask firmly affixed back in place, brings him back from his thoughts. Right—infiltration. Sumire obviously had no desire to save herself, so it fell to them.

They continue, near silent. They don’t exactly have much to talk about outside of battle, Joker too quiet and Crow too busy overanalyzing the quiet. The service corridors must end at some point, right?

And just as he wishes for it, there it appears, a gap in the floor separating the hallway from the doorway behind it. Not that that would stop them. A quick trip on their grappling hooks, and they were upon it: a door pasted with even more signs warning against visitor's trespassing and the entry of unpermitted staff. As Joker pushes his way through, undeterred, Goro wonders aloud, "What kind of place could be hidden within Maruki's own mind?"

The two step into a grand hall, decadent as the grand entry to the palace and similarly open to the sky. For a supposed location to a hidden treasure, it's not exactly inconspicuous. It looks as though it belongs in the main part of the palace, but here it is, tucked away. At one end of the corridor, a grand doorway beside a standing glass desk, complete with a fancy pen chained elegantly to the desk, alongside an official-looking document. At the other, a dead end, cut off abruptly. As they step through, the staff door behind them closes, and melds back into the wall, nearly invisible.

"Hm. Weird," says Joker, as he steps up the glass desk.

Joker grabs the papers lying on the desk and shoves them in his pockets, alongside other pilfered documents.

The disbelief in Crow’s voice is a near tangible presence. “You’re not even going to read it?” 

“I’m saving it.”

“ _Saving it?!_ For when?”

Joker grinned, cheekily. “...For later.”

But that’s Joker, Goro realizes. Infuriating as always. He supposes it doesn’t matter what any of these notes say. Not like he cares about this guy’s pathetic backstory. All that really matters is having the clues on hand for future puzzles. Reading too much into things is a waste of time in this place, swayed as it is by the researcher’s thinking. Goro stopped bothering with the little puzzles in his target's palaces long ago. Most of his targets were bad enough without the peek into their metaphorical sock drawer. And the ones who weren't, well... better to understand as little as possible about them before extinguishing them.

The grand doors beside the open with a shove from red gloved hands. Inside, there stretches a long white room, unnaturally bright for how high the ceiling is. Across the other end: a door. 

"Nothing seems to stand in our way, Joker. Not yet, anyway. Let's stay vigilant."

Before he could take more than a step, the lights flickered on in a raised observation deck built up into the wall on the left-hand side. Through the foggy glass, Goro can only make out shapes, distorted humanoid figures with too many limbs, or strange, writhing appendages where their arms should be. With a slight crackle and screech, a PA system comes to life.

“Welcome to the testing chamber. We thank our volunteers for their cooperation in a series of tests, to help determine the strength of persona users. Participants will face a variety of shadows under close supervision of our scientists. As was stated in the disclosure agreement, the test will be monitored by our researchers and recorded using our state of the art camera system to make the most of participants’ hard work. The purpose of this experiment is to test the impact of status effects. All status effects will be dispensed by licensed professionals.”

With a hiss, periwinkle-tinged gas begins to billow out of the vent, filling the chamber with the smell of toasted mustard seeds. Goro pulls his mask closed, tries to use that big paper fan Joker insists they all carry around with them, but it’s not exactly meant for weird gas. Joker summons Baal to keep the air around them fresh with a well-placed Magarudyne, but it only serves to disperse the air faster. Baal fades as the air becomes more and more cloudy, no other place left to go than inside of them. Goro feels the smoke coiling in his lungs, in his brain, blocking him from that part of himself. He opens his mouth to scream for his persona but he can’t quite remember—how did it go again? He curses as _Forget_ sets into his mind.

“No persona?” Joker asks. At Goro’s stormy expression, he grimaces. “Me neither. Seems like we are gonna have to fight this one out.”

“You should know how I despise being toyed with like this.” Goro doesn’t bother to conceal his simmering anger in this form.

“I know you do. I’m not exactly a fan of it either. But we don’t have a lot of options here. Play along with them for a bit, just until we can remember how to hit them where it hurts. I’ve got your back.”

Goro can’t help but curl his lip up at that. “Yes, _leader_ , whatever you command.”

Joker frowns, but with no time to converse further as a set of shadows materialize.

The voice over the intercom buzzes to life. “The first set will be our control. Take down the shadows as best you can.”

It’s simple enough really. The shadows are weaklings—those weird skulls with the snake coiled through them. They probably have a name, he saw Joker snatch one into his mask once, but Goro isn’t really concerned about trivial matters such as that. The only thing that Goro concerns himself with is this enemy has no particular resistance to his gun or sword, so he wastes no time in tearing them apart. The skull is barely able to absorb some of his health (a stupid move, its health is nearly full) before Goro hacks the snake’s head roughly from its body with a cruel laugh. When he glances over, he sees Joker has dealt with his shadow as well, sticking his knife through the head of the snake before prying its body from the inside of the skull. With nothing to animate it, the skull falls. Joker wastes no time stomping the snake under his boot.

“Very good!” Over the intercom, the other scientists murmur in appreciation. “It seems you two are evenly matched in skill! This is wonderful. The striped one will be our controlled variable. Participants, please wait calmly for the next stage of the experiment.”

Joker and Goro shared a sidelong look at each other, but before Goro could do more than open his mouth, it happened: from a chink in the wall, a blur of metallic shine zips through the air, impaling above Akira's collarbone. He drops like a stone.

Before Goro can take a step, Joker is rising again. 

He calls out to him, “Joker? What happened?” But the only response he gets is a _growl,_ emanating from Joker’s chest. His vision is clouding over, and he throws himself at the incoming shadows like a rabid beast. Rage, then. This should be interesting.

Called by the shadows in the observation room, the enemies come in waves. Small fry shadows quickly replaced by higher ranks as the battle draws on. Nothing the two of them can’t handle, especially with Joker buffed up with rage. Like this, he’s very... different. It’s a side of Joker that Goro doesn’t usually see on the stone-faced leader: the color high on his face, pupils nearly consuming the steely gray of his eyes, his dagger flashing in vicious strokes as he lunges in perpetual motion, barely stopping to change direction between attacks.

Goro had long-since determined that Joker’s biggest strengths were in his speed and versatility in battle. But watching him dash in close to slash into enemy after enemy, Goro felt the list had to be updated. As he watches, Joker sinks his knife in a Byakhee, twisting the blade in his hold before bringing a heeled boot up on the shadow to kick it away from his blade. A spurt of shadow blood follows, splattering his chin in black goo. Joker’s eyes flash as he bares his teeth in a feral sort of smile. His tongue darts out to lick the goop on his lips, and it’s hard not to be transfixed by the sight.

His own enemy gets in a well-placed hit, and Goro re-centers himself. Right, the battle. He can’t exactly let himself fall behind. 

The shadows seem never-ending, but surely the scientists would get bored at some point, right? As soon as he thinks it, the cool voice over the speaker crackles out again. 

“We’re going to try something a little different now. Surely you understand, fighting shadows can only give us so much data. For this next bit, remember: we will be monitoring you the entire time.”

Goro moves himself to Joker’s side. Best to face whatever is coming at them as a single unit. He doesn’t expect the second dart to come out of the wall, but he supposes he should have. It embeds in the soft skin under his ear, and Goro moves to catch him as he falls from the hit.

Eyes blown wide and locked on each other’s faces. Goro watches as Akira’s lose focus, slipping away from his eyes to the space behind them.

His eyes refocus, and he can tell in that moment that this is not the Akira he knows. 

Like a shot, the moment is broken. All at once, Akira is baring his teeth in a snarl, snapping at Goro. The fuckers have _brainwashed_ him. 

Goro raises his sword to block the attack. He doesn’t want to kill Joker, but he does need to subdue him, but Joker has no such qualms about him. He could almost admire him in this moment, this face of Joker’s he has never before seen, if he wasn’t scrambling away. This is what Goro wanted to see in all of the times he had fought against him.

He angles his serrated blade to the side, going on the defensive. Joker’s blade is shorter than his, if he uses that distance...

He parries, trying to push him away, but Joker snaps with his teeth like some sort of beast. Have Joker’s teeth always been this sharp? 

He needs to get it together. Make space to better plan his attack. He can’t view this objectively when all he wants to do is sit Joker down and feel around with his fingers in his mouth. All that anger directed towards Goro by his rival is... heady. 

He takes a moment to jump back. Take a breath. 

The space made between him and Joker works his disadvantage, and Goro watches in slow-motion as Joker pulls out his gun. 

Goro dodges, rolling, panicked. This can’t be happening. He needs to get control of the situation, before—

An icy bullet pierces through him. He doesn’t know how many it actually takes to freeze him solid, with those stupid gun upgrades that Joker is so obsessed with, but he fires until he has wasted the entire clip.

There’s nothing he can do here. His brain can’t keep up.He can’t feel any of his limbs, let along move them. All he can do is watch for Joker’s approach.

And Joker approaches. Crazed smile upon his lips as he smashes into Goro with a yell. He brings one leg up to kick him over, and Goro collapses on the ground in a heap of shattering ice. 

His limbs can’t quite cooperate, as the blood moves sluggishly in his veins. Dazed and shivering and unable to scrabble away, utterly helpless but to watch. The dark figure of his leader wastes no time, either, leaping at him like a wild animal to stomp on his sword hand. Kicking the weapon away and crushing his gauntlets in on his fingers.

Joker throws himself on top of Goro next, straddling his pelvis to keep him in place. Goro tries to force his hands to cooperate, to _MOVE, GODDAMMIT_ , but only succeeds in flailing at Joker’s face. The thief slams a knife in each of his hands, and Goro howls as the blade skewers him through his gauntlets, crushing his fingers in place. Hazy with pain, Goro doesn’t notice the incoming strike, and the knife hits home in his chest. He can feel the muscle in his chest hitch, unconscious in its rhythm until interrupted, gushing blood and tissue. With a roar, Joker dislodges the knife in a downward arc, tearing open his stomach. The pain is so intense that he blacks out for a minute, heart gushing blood, and desperation claws at him. If he’s getting out of this one, it has to be ? be now, he doesn’t have much time left to make a move. He takes a gasping breath and bucks into the knife, rolling his hips to throw off the thief above him. 

Joker grunts, unseated, but holds fast to the knife. Using it like a handle, it twists in his grip, causing a corkscrew of howling pain through Goro’s stomach. Joker throws himself down on top of Goro, thrusting the knife deeper as Goro shrieks, entire body tensing before convulsing uncontrollably, and he finally, blissfully, fades from consciousness.

* * *

When he comes to, someone is screaming. Goro’s body locks, trembling, as the last dredges of the Samarecarm flutter through his body. The feeling of wholeness, oneness, washes through him like a balm and the screams—now identifiable as his own—stop abruptly. Then he tries to move, and the pain crashes over him again. 

His eyes shoot open. Through the liquid haze of pain, he can see the fading shadow sent by the panicked scientists to resurrect him, realizing now the out of control turn their experiment has taken. The healing spell brought his spirit back from the brink of oblivion, but it can only do so much for his situation: the healing flesh of his hands displaced around the blade stuck through them, his fingers growing in mangled from their confines within his crushed gauntlet. 

His body jerks, panicked, and he can no longer hold back hyperventilating breaths as the knives slice through flesh from the inside out.

His only saving grace is that Joker hasn’t noticed he’s back yet, busy leaping and growling at Belial that must have been summoned while he was out. 

Goro steels himself, clenching his jaw shut, and then wrenches one hand up to try and unstick the knives from the floor. His flesh bursts open, the strain loosening the knife stuck fast in the newly healed skin on his stomach, and Goro smothers a scream behind clenched teeth. Not well enough, apparently, as Joker’s head whips around like a predator smelling fresh blood. 

Well, fuck.

“Joker! This isn’t you! For fuck's sake, _snap out of it!”_

Shadow forgotten, Joker rushes at Goro, as he struggles against the floor. Although unstuck from the floor, the knife still sits through his palm, making any attempt to close his hand to remove it a labor of pain. Goro curls up around the knife stuck through his stomach, aware of the organs forced to grow in around it as they rub against the steel. His attempt at protective squirming only widens the growing wound, gore and organs trying to burst from his body around it.

The PA system turns back on, and he can hear the panicked chatter from the assembled scientists. 

“Quick, get them out there—”

“We aren’t supposed to interfere,”

“We can’t have volunteers dying in our facility!” 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen...” 

“Use the sleep dart, already!” 

Joker, still running, ducks under the incoming projectile.

Through his body’s panic, Goro tries to get up from the floor, but can't quite hold himself up on his hand, stuck through with bloodied steel. He tries to curl his shaking fingers around the handle stuck through his palm, and screams when he feels his bones shift unnaturally around it. Dropping his wrists, he tries to assume a defensive position covering his stomach. Maybe he could stick Joker with the blade through his hand? 

Finally, from the observation booth up above, some form of relief. Just as Joker is throwing himself down upon him once again, the spells ring out. “ _Tentarafoo_!” 

A haze overtakes him, and he sees Joker stop in his tracks. He can see the rage churning in Joker’s face as he props himself on his hands and knees, trying to remember how to hurt him through the affliction of confusion _._

The next spell rings out a half a breath later. “ _Heat Riser!”_ comes the yell from above, and Goro feels a sort of pink, rosy heat rise in his confused body. The pain in his stomach and hands flutters, still there but morphing into something more _pleasurable._ A groan falls from his lip, the kind that makes the both of them freeze, wide-eyed. This can’t be happening. Joker had mentioned the weird status effects thrown around in the fight with the self-proclaimed god, but, really? _Lust?_

He can’t contain another groan as Joker shuffles above him, pinning down his arm and clawing his fingers over where the knife through his hand meets skin. All at once, Joker rips the knife out of his hand, and Goro screams, the end of it turning into a moan as he shakes in the hold. Blood trickles down the meat of his hand to his wrist, over his thundering pulse. The smell of Joker fills his nose, spice and leather and boysweat and Joker leans over to unhook his gauntlets. Then he licks over Goro’s wrist, lapping up the blood.

Goro’s head feels like it’s too empty and too full, stuffed with cotton and hormones and emptiness, as his common sense crawls off to die in a corner of his mind; the buzzing sensation stimulating his frayed nerves and taking over. When Joker’s tongue follows the trail of blood up to lick over the wound, he moans—actually moans—and Joker leans back and licks his lips. His thumb rubs over the hand, digit pressing into the slit in the middle and it's torment, it's bliss, it's someone else's hands on him and inside of him and the vulnerability is translating to intimacy in Goro's confused and lust-addled mind, making the heat in his body burn hotter. His last conscious fragment of sanity screams at him from the corner of his mind. Goro ignores it, and tosses back his head.

Joker grabs his wrist and yanks it back over his palm. Fitting the knife back inside and plunging it through the floor as Goro's breath catches in his throat. Watching all of Joker's focus on forcing the knife through his hand, on _him,_ it's erotic. Goro holds himself still, barely breathes, but can't help the whine escaping his throat. “Keep going, fuck.”

Joker growls, and grabs hold of his arms above the elbow, fingers digging into the soft flesh. He shoves him into the floor, climbing on top of him to hold his thighs open with his knees. Goro’s head hits the floor and he moans dazedly, breath coming in short bursts as Joker wraps a red-gloved hand around the knife in his stomach. He tugs on the handle once, and the skin follows the motion, moving with the blade where it has grown in around it. Goro’s mouth drops open.

And Joker thrusts the knife back in.

Pain lights up his whole body. Pressure in his stomach, pushing his displaced organs against the growing gash, blood gushing around the knife’s handle. He’s leaking blood and precum and drool from the corner of his mouth.

There's an ache inside of Goro, one he's only ever felt in snatches while getting off; Goro's brain blanks out—pain, pleasure, stimulation, it all adds to the perfect storm crying out for _more, more, please pleasepleaseplease._

Joker’s eyes flash, sick pleasure overtaking them, and he quickly grabs the torn fabric of Goro's suit, ripping it open to the collar and then all the way down with an animalistic growl.

Too far gone, all Goro can do is groan as his hardening cock slips out into the open air. He spreads his legs, trying to beg without words.

Joker wraps his hand around the knife, and Goro’s legs spasm. _“_ Please. _Please!_ I need more. I need it, fuck, please. Please, fuck me.”

Joker is at his throat in an instant, and Goro’s head whips to the side as Joker slaps him across the face with a growl. His cheek burns hot and red and distinctly hand-shaped. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so aroused.

Breathing hard and fast, Goro hears the telltale sound of a button and fly opening. 

Joker travels downward, yanking his legs up none-too-kindly to his chest, but it doesn’t matter. The burn in his muscles is nothing compared to the aching emptiness inside him, needing to be filled. He whimpers as Joker pushes the blunt head against his rim. “Yes, please, inside...”

Joker thrusts with a growl, but can’t quite penetrate. He grabs the knife in Goro’s stomach and drags it out, pooling blood and tissue on his abdomen. Joker drags his hand through it, blood-red glove against red, and slicks the hand over his cock. 

One hand gripping the back of Goro’s thigh, Joker fits his cock to his puckered hole, smearing it with red. He pushes in, wasting no time to seat himself as far as he can, circling his hips to push farther and deeper in Goro’s most sensitive spots and _God,_ he’s being split in two, torn open from the inside. 

Surely it can't be this good. The lust burns through his body, heightening every sensation. Even the raw burn of not enough lube feels fantastic on his overstimulated nerves. Goro's head falls back, mouth open with a drawn out groan, and he catches sight of the observation cameras, still zeroed in on the two of them. There hasn't been any noise over the PA for a while. He wonders if the scientists are still there, watching them. Probably. Maybe they're taking notes on his behavior, or—shit. Maybe they've given up all pretense, eyes locked on the camera feeds as they stroke themselves through their pants. Goro moans, uncaring, too blissed out on all the sensation, grinding onto Joker's cock in search of the perfect spot, and— _there, fuck._

“Fuck, Joker, fuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuck me right there, oh my God. Oh my God, yes.”

His stomach muscles contract, dick twitching as Joker zeroes in on the weak spot to grind his dick into Goro's prostate. Joker takes the moment to jab his knife back into him to the hilt, fully sheathed in his body, and Goro screams, eyes rolling back as he cums over his stomach.

Joker drops his legs, fucking into him without restraint. Goro whimpers. It hurts so bad, the overstimulation and pain blanking out his mind, but the heavy layer of arousal buzzes over everything else. Somehow, his dick is still hard, and he whines as Joker’s bloody hands climb up his body. 

Hands clawing into him, Goro sinks into the floor. He drops his legs, too tired to pull Joker closer or push him away. He angles his hips, trying to get some friction on his neglected dick, but Joker pushes him back down again with a growl. His hands wrap around Goro’s throat, and _press._

Goro can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and there’s pressure all around him and inside of him and he can’t breathe. The friction is perfect. Joker doesn’t stop thrusting in him once, even hitting his prostate as he blocks Goro’s airway. His throat feels like it’s being crushed. Maybe it is? It’s hard to care for the sharpness in his throat with how floaty his body feels. And the arousal in his belly tightening, ready to burst. He gasps out his moans as best he can, unable to control his body as it tries to flail in the thief’s grip. Joker slams his own body down, pinning him as he fucks him, putting pressure on the wound in his stomach and he chokes the life out of Goro and it is too much. It is perfect. He feels himself coming, mouth open in a silent scream, and then the world goes dark.

* * *

When he comes back to it, he is at the entrance to the palace. Joker has a broken Goho-M in his hands, crouched over him protectively. 

“Are you back? Is the ailment gone?”

Goro groans, and not in a sexy way.

“Okay, that’s something, at least. How do you feel? Do you need another healing spell? What can I do.”

He looks down at himself, covered in blood but otherwise unscathed. His modesty is covered by Joker’s coat.

When Goro speaks, his voice comes out rough. “Stop mother henning me, for a start. Oof,” he brings a hand up, perfectly whole, to his throat. Nothing crushed or torn, but he feels... battered. Worn out. “Before you ask, we are NOT talking about that.”

“Wasn’t going to. Are you ready to go back?”

“I don’t want to be in here a minute longer.”

Joker tries to help him up, like the gentlemanly figure he likes to play, but Goro holds up a hand. “I can do it myself. Let’s get out of here.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you?” Joker sounds pitifully desperate. “I can bring you home? Make you curry? Or get you soup, or—”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because some of that was—”

“I said I’m _fine,_ Joker. Stop hovering. It would make me feel much better if you could _let me go home_ and we can come back tomorrow to beat this bastard’s face in.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Good.”

“See you tomorrow then.”

Goro doesn’t bother dignifying that was a response. He decides promptly to go home and take enough sleep medication to knock him out for the night, and then never think about this incident ever again.

* * *

This whole thing is becoming a slog, really. The palace seems to go on and on, and the dramatic reconciliation of the team is not doing anything to make the affair less obnoxious. He doesn’t give a damn about understanding Maruki and his motivation, but the footage on the TVs provide valuable insight necessary to proceed past the word locks. And so, here they are, searching high and low for any room that _might_ show footage.

The thieves stumble in a security room, as they have been known to do, and waste no time taking out the guarding shadow there. When they play back the tapes on the TV in the corner, all gathering around the tiny little screen, Goro stands at the fringes, turning his back. He doesn’t care about any of this, it doesn’t _matter,_ they haven’t even found a lock for that needs opening yet, they are wasting their time. 

And then his own voice begins playing from the TV. 

_“Fuck, Joker, fuckfuckfuck. Fuck me right there, oh my God. Oh my God, yes.”_

Goro whirls around. These are supposed to be Maruki’s _memories!_ How the _hell—_

Everyone is staring at the little screen, dumbstruck. There, plain as day, Goro with his suit torn open, bleeding profusely as he’s fucked out of his mind. Joker looms over him, red gloved hands leaving bloody handprints on his body. As he watches, Joker wraps a hand around the Goro’s throat onscreen, and the other him—the one from before—cums all over himself.

Goro growls and shoves the others aside to stand between them and the screen. “We are _not_ watching this.” He fiddles with the dials, trying to find the off switch, but his choked moaning persists through the tinny speakers. “Fucking _hell—”_ Goro rips out his sword, bringing it down on the top of the TV. Finally, blissfully, silence. 

Futaba, bug-eyed behind her humongous goggles, is the first to speak up. “Hey, I was watching that...”

Ryuji is the next from the peanut gallery to try his luck. “Woah man, that was way more intense than I thought you‘d be into.”

Ann lets out a shriek. “You’ve _thought_ about it?!”

Joker adjusts his gloves in a leaderly fashion. “Alright, we’re done here. Let’s go home for the day.” And he sets off, no explanation. The Phantom Thieves left gaping at his turned back. 

Goro gives his sword a yank, and the TV falls to the floor in a truly pathetic fashion. He steps on it for good measure, crushing it under his heel. Then he stalks after Joker, trying to pretend he's not sporting a semi under his suit. 

He doesn’t know about the rest of them, but he has got a lot of shit to sort out between Joker and his damned knife. 

**Author's Note:**

> first time posting EVER. everyone be nice to me.
> 
> hornytwt [@eprotag](http://twitter.com/eprotag). see you there!


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